The father of the family looked at the bill, and remarked
quizzically, "Bond Street prices, eh?"
"Bond Street service," said I, curtsying demurely.
He paid it without flinching, and gave me sixpence for myself. I
was very much afraid he would chuck me under the chin; they are
always chucking barmaids under the chin in old English novels, but I
have never seen it done in real life. As they strolled down to the
gate, the second gentleman gave me another sixpence, and the nice
young fellow gave me a shilling; he certainly had read the old
English novels and remembered them, so I kept with the children.
One of the ladies then asked if we sold flowers.
"Certainly," I replied.
"What do you ask for roses?"
"Fourpence apiece for the fine ones," I answered glibly, hoping it
was enough, "thrippence for the small ones; sixpence for a bunch of
sweet peas, tuppence apiece for buttonhole carnations."
Each of the ladies took some roses and mignonette, and the
gentlemen, who did not care for carnations in the least, weakened
when I approached modestly to pin them in their coats, a la barmaid.
